


Love Letters

by Fyeahvarric



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Letters, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5474933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyeahvarric/pseuds/Fyeahvarric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Based on a prompt from the DA Kink Meme) Varric and Cecilia Hawke are in a long distance relationship in to the events of Inquisition. One day, after sending each other letters for quite some time, Varric ends up writing one that is decidedly sexual in nature. Hawke (awkwardly) sends sexy letters in return. </p><p>Eventually, there will be full on smut aside from dirty love letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More information about Varric and Cecilia can be found over on my tumblr under their particular ship tag.
> 
> http://fuckyeahvarric.tumblr.com/tagged/otp: the first sovereign

She was sick of the rain.

Absolutely and unquestionably sick of it.

There were, as a matter of fact, a number of things which Cecilia Hawke had become completely exhausted of, but most seemed to relate in some way to the sky and its apparently never-ending desire to piss all over everything for days on end. 

The fact that her socks were more often than not soggy? Thanks to the rain.

Her cold and almost constantly dripping nose? Another result of the damnable rain.

Her perpetually damp hair, drenched clothing, and mud-caked boots? The insufferable and endless, “there's a blasted hole in the fucking sky, so why is this necessary and when will it stop?” bloody rain.

It was likely that the continuing downpour would have been less of a nuisance had she been able to stay put for more than a few days at a time. Being a fairly well-known and slightly infamous former Champion during a mage uprising, which she **had** helped start, didn't quite afford one the luxury of remaining in place for too long. Staying cooped up indoors, waiting for the skies to clear up would have been preferable in her eyes to stomping along through the cold and slick from one nondescript village and inn to the next. Boring, perhaps, but much drier and a great deal more nurturing to her usually more pleasant disposition. 

The things one had to do for the sake of attempted anonymity and ease of communication from distant parties. 

Stroud had been laying low in Crestwood for a short while, making it fairly imperative that she stay as close as possible to the area in order to more easily obtain what few letters he could send as well as keep her eyes peeled for any signs of other Wardens who might have been seeking him. She may have felt more comfortable watching his back directly, but staying cooped up in the same cave would have done little good in helping him avoid his brethren. He needed her eyes and ears, particularly when there seemed to be few people who felt he could trust. Keeping relatively close meant keeping him safe and allowing his letters to reach her swiftly, no matter how few he sent. She did suppose it also meant she obtained Varric's letters a great deal more quickly than she had when she'd been traveling all over. It did wonders for a tired, water-logged body to hear from one's lover often rather than somewhat rarely.

She thought of letters with hope in her heart when she stepped out of the rain and in to the welcoming warmth of the oddly named yet fairly inviting Sleepy Druffalo, tapping mud from her boots as well as she could before she moved fully through the doorway. The fire crackling in the hearth seemed to warm the whole of the small tavern which comprised the inn's main floor and the air smelled as it had since yesterday of freshly baked bread, almost immediately chasing away all of Cecilia's agitation. She'd not likely stay at the inn for much longer, another day or two at the very most, but it was a welcome place to haul up for the meanwhile, with a soft bed and a decent meal to be had each day.

“Maker's breath! You're soaked to the bone, girl!”

The proprietor of the inn greeted her near the door much the same way as she had the day before, stern eyes looking the waterlogged woman over from head to toe. Cecilia couldn't quite remember the woman's name, a fact which she felt a bit guilty for given that the innkeeper was both kind and well-meaning, so she offered an apologetic smile for the unspoken detail she'd forgotten and the water dripping on to the floorboards.

“I'm sorry for the mess.”

“None of that now. At least you had the thought to clean off your boots and not track mud all over the floors. Hang that cloak up and take a seat close to the fire. I'll bring you some warm tea to help chase the chill away.”

The innkeeper's tone brokered no argument and Cecilia felt no inclination whatsoever to give one, watching the woman wander off with the tray of drinks she'd been holding against her hip, taking them over to the only occupied table of patrons the former Champion could see as she removed her sodden cloak. The room was mostly quiet, only a hint of conversation resounding from one corner, and it was easily drowned out by the rain drumming on the roof or the crackling she heard coming from the hearth once she took her seat. She rather welcomed the relaxed calm of the place, found that empty taverns were more of a comfort than boisterous ones, preferring establishments that didn't remind her of the Hanged Man, home, or days gone by. She always expected to hear Isabela or Fenris whenever there were too many voices around, hating the reminder that the two of them were far away, off on a ship with her sister rather than together in Kirkwall. It didn't do well to reflect too much on 'the good old days', not when she spent most of her time alone, with only letters to help make distance feel easier to cope with. 

For all the horrible things and endless fighting she'd done since she'd set foot within the Gallows, Cecilia missed the feeling of sitting still, of being in one place with people she cared for. The loss of home had become all too common an occurrence in her life and her heart seemed to ache as much as her feet most days, especially when she reflected on old times. It wasn't as if she would change the way things had become. Had things been able to go back to the way they had once been, it would've meant her sister being back in the Circle. It would have meant loving Varric and never knowing that he loved her too. She hated all the death and chaos that had come with the war and now with the Breach and she certainly bore no love of being so far from the people who mattered most in her life. Yet she would never have been able to trade the knowledge that her sister was somewhere on the sea, with no walls surrounding her and no templars to guard her. She could never trade the confession she'd made the night before she'd parted ways from her dearest friend, all of her secrets and feelings laid as bare as she had beneath him when he finally showed her what had been in his heart too. There were too many important changes, priceless experiences, and possibilities she dared not give up, no matter how much she wished she could have them all and just be content in one place for a while. 

“Maybe someday,” she always told herself, the thought a comfort and a hope for the future.

Her mind cleared when a steaming mug was set on the table beside her, along with a generous slice of fresh bread and a helping of jam to go along with it, mumbling a warm thanks to the innkeeper.

“This came for you as well, love. Was dropped off by some young fella. Didn't say what his name was. Just who it was for.”

Cecilia tried to contain her excitement, masking it with a small smile even though her heart nearly sped up in her chest. She offered her thanks once again, appreciative that the other woman saw no need to pry or ask question, just left her alone to her drink and her letter. The envelope bore no name, as was common whenever she received any correspondence from her usual contacts, but the wax seal on the back was entirely familiar and most certainly not common of her friend amongst the Wardens. Not that the seal alone was what she'd needed to ascertain just who had contacted her in this instance, the thickness of the envelope promising multiple pages. Wordiness was, after all, what she expected of Varric.

She broke the seal easily, pulling the pages free with care, and resisting the desire to lift the parchment to her nose, always hoping to catch a hint of Varric's scent when he wrote her. She promised herself that she'd indulge in that little bit of personal silliness when she was alone in her room, unfolding the pages so she could eagerly drink in his words.

_'Waffles,_

_I always used to think you dragged me in to the weirdest shit Thedas has to offer, but I'm starting to think the Inquisition has our Kirkwall exploits beat._

_Sure, the crazed Knight Commander and the freaky walking statues are sort of hard to top, but did you know that time magic is apparently a thing? Because apparently it's a thing. No shit.'_

Cecilia let out a soft chuckle and shook her head. Most of Varric's letters started off in much the same way, briefly summarizing what had been going on in Haven or with the Inquisition's efforts against the Breach before going in to detail. She recognized it as his way of drawing her in, hooking her on his words much the same way as he did at the start of a novel. (And she was loathe to tell him, but she'd read a fair few of his over the years.) It was comforting in a way, because his colorful summations of recent events tended to let her know that he was all right. Grave or dire news didn't need to be sugarcoated or dressed up, so it was quite possibly also his way of giving her peace of mind. She'd been worried sick about him when she'd first gotten word that he'd been interrogated and dragged off by some Seeker of Truth she'd never heard of. In fact, she'd been geared up to make way to Haven before Varric had gotten a letter to her, reassuring her that he was okay and that she'd better not come tearing after him when they'd been trying so hard to keep her hidden. Ever since, it had become something of a weight off her shoulders every time he sent a letter that opened on a nearly flippant note. 

She read on, taking in every bit of information he had passed on involving the Inquisition's attempts to deal with red lyrium, which he spent an entire page ranting about, and how the Herald of Andraste had asked the rebel mages to join the Inquisition's ranks. She knew that there were details Varric probably hadn't given, likely hadn't been able to give her being as sharing too much could put them both at risk, but it was a relief to have the gist of things. Especially where the mages were concerned. She wondered how Anders, wherever he had gone, would feel about it all. She supposed she might never know, but rather than focus on worrying about a friend she wasn't sure she'd ever see again, she continued on with the next page of Varric's letter.

_'It's going to take a little bit of time, but the mages are gearing up to try and close that damn sky hole. Can't say I'm not eager to see it closed once and for all. The world's had enough trouble without the sky shitting demons left and right. With any luck, after that we can focus on finding out who caused this in the first place. Bianca and I are getting anxious to see this story come to a close and I'm about sick of seeing all that weird, swirling green Fade shit above my head._

_Will say one thing, though. It makes me think of you. Well, your eyes mostly. Guess I never really did you the courtesy of telling you how damn beautiful they are while I was actually able to see them on a regular basis, did I?_

_Shit. I really fucked that one up, didn't I, Waffles? May as well rectify that now. Maker only knows I've got plenty of writing space left and I can't very well send you a letter that's full of nothing, but the weird shit I've seen since I got to Haven. So, let's talk about your eyes, yeah?_

_I always thought they were beautiful. Ever since I first saw you and even when you were sizing me up during that first conversation. Looked like you weren't sure if you could trust me as far as you could throw me, even though we both know you're stronger than an ox and can probably throw me pretty damn far. You were talking all polite, keeping your cool, but I could see it all in your eyes, sweetheart. You weren't sure if I was gonna cause problems for Bethany, would've knocked me out cold if you thought I'd bring her any trouble, and shit, that was something else. I liked you in an instant seeing how much you cared about your sister, but I almost couldn't help it, Waffles. I'd never seen eyes that shade of green before. Even when they looked sharp as knives, they were so damn beautiful. Didn't think they could be prettier until I saw you laugh the first time, saw how pale and soft they looked when you were smiling. Only thing I'd ever seen that matched the color was some kind of ceramic I still haven't been able to find out the name of._

_Doesn't matter what it's called, though. Doesn't do your eyes justice, sweetheart. Don't even think I could describe them in a way that could do them justice, but it won't stop me from trying. Won't stop me from telling you the things they do to me, what just thinking about your eyes does to me._

_Fuck, just remembering the way you looked down at me that night makes it hard to breathe sometimes, Waffles. Do you know how you looked to me back then? On the night before we had to say good bye?'_

Cecilia stopped reading for a moment, feeling her face start to grow warm at the path the letter was taking, knowing that her nearness to the fire had absolutely nothing to do with the color steadily creeping across her pale cheeks. Varric's letters never lacked for affection or sweetness, filling up her heart with all the things he'd never said while they'd been together, as if he wanted to make up for all those years of longing with every heartfelt word he had at his disposal.

But this was something altogether new, something which promised heat and fire as well as yearning. She took a sip of her cooling tea, needing to wet her suddenly dry throat, and the same eyes Varric's letter seemed keen to discuss glanced around quickly to ensure no one was near before she continued reading.

_'Your eyes begged me, sweetness. Even when you weren't talking, when I was dragging my tongue over your breasts and spreading your thighs apart and you were whimpering when my hand slipped in to your smalls, your eyes were saying everything. They were telling me what you wanted before you finally got the words out and I loved both, honey. I loved the way you looked down at me, watched when my fingers slipped inside you, and then you whispered my name, told me to keep going, to give you more. You almost looked away, almost closed your eyes when I curled my fingers in you, started stretching you and playing with your clit. Got you ready for my cock. I should've tasted you too. Should've laid you back on that table and dragged my tongue all over your pussy, watched you squirm and stare at me while I made you come against my mouth._

_But I didn't and I'm gonna make that better when I see you again. Because you deserve that. You deserve my mouth telling you how beautiful you are and letting you ride my face, because you almost made me come just from the way you looked riding me that night. I'm never gonna forget that you said you loved me when you took it inside, when you sank down so damn slow and looked at me with those gorgeous fucking eyes, like you never knew anything better than my cock filling you up. I can't wait to feel it again, Waffles._

_I'm gonna drink you in next time, really savor it. Remember every second, so next time I write you a letter like this I can describe everything, every single detail the way it needs to be written. And you know what I'm thinking about now? I'm thinking about those pretty green eyes reading this letter, how you're probably blushing while you remember our first time. And if you touch yourself when you read this, I want you to tell me. I want you to describe it for me. I want you to let me know what you do to yourself. I want your fingers between your thighs while you read my words and make yourself come for me._

_And if you don't, if this wasn't enough then I'll make the next letter even better for you. I'll make my words a feast for those eyes I fell so damn hard for._

_I miss you, Waffles. And in case you may have forgotten, I'm hopelessly and incurably in love with you._

_Looking forward to the next letter.'_

Cecilia didn't even bother to see what fake name Varric had signed the letter with this time, too awestruck by how unexpectedly, unbelievably, and deliciously dirty the last few pages had been. Up until the present, his letters had never lacked for some mention of his feelings or an allusion to the affection he felt for her. The professions of love were there, but never more overt than necessary, because she had never needed pretty words or anything of the sort. The simple knowledge that he cared for her without holding back as he used to was more than she ever could have hoped for and all that she needed. Seeing the endearments in his writing, the 'honeys' and the 'beautifuls', had just been very lovely bonuses.

 **This** was something completely new. 

She knew how Varric was with his words, how in-depth he tended to write almost everything so long as it didn't involve his dealings with the Merchant's Guild, but seeing all his thoughts about their night together spelled out before her, passionate and maybe even a little crass, was startling.

It was surprising.

And it was fucking sexy.

Reading her lover's recollections had the exact effect he'd probably been aiming for, leaving Cecilia remembering the night he spoke of, all the sensations and feelings she'd only had the chance to share with him once coming back with memories so strong it almost felt as if she could physically relive them. Her skin felt warmer still as she reread the last few paragraphs of the letter, hearing the words in the rough, gravely timber of his voice as tiny shivers unrelated to the rain raced up her spine and she felt herself aching for the touches Varric had described for her. She remembered it all and Maker, did she want to know it again, feel the fingers that had written the words delving between her thighs to feel how wet she'd become.

“Your tea looks to have gone cold, love.”

Cecilia gasped and tore her eyes away from the parchment, folding the pages with fingers too quick and clumsy for an experienced rogue such as herself. Her wide eyes darted up to the innkeeper standing before her, plastering on as friendly a smile as she could muster while clutching the letter in too tight a grip to be discreet about how flustered it had left her.

“Beg your pardon?” she asked, hating how weak and breathless her voice sounded.

“Your tea. Looks like all the steam went out of it and right in to your face with as rosy as your cheeks are. I take it you've got yourself a nice love letter to keep you warm on a rainy day then?”

“No. Noooo. Nothing like that. I'm just sitting very close to the fire. Probably too close. That's why my face is red. Nothing to do with the letter at all, I assure you. It's just the...uhh...the fire...”

Cecilia knew she sounded completely unconvincing, especially when the innkeeper gave a little chuckle and smiled as if in understanding, dimples standing out in her cheeks. She seemed keen to show mercy, saying nothing more about love letters or flushed cheeks as she took the cold tea and untouched tray from the table, letting the former Champion know that she could have a proper meal later if she felt the need for it. Appreciative of the diversion from further awkwardness, Cecilia offered her thanks quietly and made her way upstairs towards the room she'd been paying for, needing to be alone before she embarrassed herself any further. Which, she surmised, would hardly be an issue if Varric hadn't mortified her in the first place with his purposefully sexually frustrating correspondence. Perhaps turning her in to a blushing mess had even been his intention, more so than trying to inspire any arousal.

As she closed the door to her room soundly behind her, setting the letter atop the bed before she changed out of her still damp clothing, Cecilia considered what she might say in her response. He'd probably feel incredibly smug if she admitted that he'd embarrassed her, not that it had ever been hard to do that in the first place. She didn't doubt for even a second that he was likely anticipating that her next letter would be full of awkward fretting and scolding. No, she knew herself and she knew Varric, so the absolute last thing he'd be sure to expect was for her to play along rather than allow her own shyness to silence any desire to reciprocate the sensual nature of his letter. But could she actually manage to write out all the things he'd said he wanted? Did she have it in her to detail every way that his words had turned her and how much she needed to feel him inside her again?

Her eyes darted to the pages atop the bed, the words both taunting and tantalizing her as she pictured the cocksure smirk she'd fallen in love with years and years ago, determination replacing desire. If Varric Tethras wanted a dirty letter in response than she was damn sure going to give him one and she was going to her absolute best to make sure that he would need a change of pants after he read it. If she didn't end up writing something completely laughable, that is.

Shucking her clothes and any needless modesty, Cecilia Hawke began her valiant effort to revenge-seduce her lover.

“This is going to be a fucking disaster.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Based on a prompt from the DA Kink Meme) Varric and Cecilia Hawke are in a long distance relationship in to the events of Inquisition. One day, after sending each other letters for quite some time, Varric ends up writing one that is decidedly sexual in nature. Hawke (awkwardly) sends sexy letters in return.
> 
> Eventually, there will be full on smut aside from dirty love letters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More information about Varric and Cecilia can be found over on my tumblr under their particular ship tag.
> 
> http://fuckyeahvarric.tumblr.com/tagged/otp: the first sovereign

Chapter 2:

 

It would be over any day now.

Such seemed to be the general consensus of the vast majority of the Inquisition over the course of the past few weeks, optimism and lyrium shipments coming to Haven in droves. Varric couldn't begrudge anyone the hope which seemed to be lifting the spirits of so many, particularly not when he was clinging to a dash of it too. Yet he couldn't find himself wholly dedicated to the idea of finality that appeared to hover within every corner of Haven. A person like him, who wrote tragedy more than anything else and had witnessed a lifetime's worth of pure bullshit within the span of a decade, tended to err a bit more of the side of pessimism. Or maybe he could better defined it as a personal brand of logic. After all, sealing the Breach was a single step towards fixing a whole world of messes and the mystery of who had caused the big, green disaster stirring amongst the clouds wouldn't necessarily be solved by stuffing a cork in the magical eyesore. There was still a long road ahead and no matter how much Varric got sick of walking long ass roads, he knew he wouldn't be able to take a rest until he saw things through to the end.

It was, if anything, a comfort to know that the people he'd be working alongside for however long seemed to be as capable as the world could hope for, regardless of what the Chantry might have to say about the Inquisition. The Seeker would always be an absolute terror, one he continually expected to knife him in the novel again if he pissed her off enough, but he knew her heart was in the right place and her sword arm was stronger than anyone could need. Serious folks like her and like Curly, who seemed to have flourished outside of Kirkwall, provided a hell of a backbone for the Inquisition while Ruffles and Nightingale had just above every other base covered that needed to be. Soldiers and merchants came to Haven every day, so the Inquisition hardly seemed to lack for forces, wares, or interesting new faces.

What gave him the most of an inclination towards hope was the person leading them all. Or basically leading even though nothing official had been decided. The Herald of Andraste might not have been a title the noble-born woman had wanted and it certainly wasn't one that outwardly seemed to suit her. Just hearing 'Herald' alone had given him notions of someone poised and serious, perhaps even larger than life, which she admittedly was no matter how much she thought otherwise. He'd almost expected someone like Hawke, a golden-hearted stick in the mud who was as courageous as she was wonderfully flawed. Mally Trevelyan, while certainly flawed and courageous, was as far from a stick in the mud as a person could get. She always had a gap-toothed grin and a terrible pun at the ready, all freckles, curly hair, and very little love for the Chantry or unwanted holy titles. The woman was every bit a hero already and every bit uncertain that she actually was one, fearful of her expectations and circumstances even when she'd proven to be capable of doing amazing things with her daggers as well as her decisions. 

She was shaping up to be something great, someone who lived up to being one who could, as she'd once joked, _herald_ change for the world. The fact that she wasn't falling in to things so easily and without question just reminded him that she was very, very human and he'd always preferred people who were heroes rather than heroes who were just that. She was a good sort of person to steer Thedas in new directions and if the awkward pick-up lines she kept on dropping on Tiny went anywhere then she'd definitely make a good subject for his next book. Provided he didn't get dragged off on some other weird adventure if he opted to write it. Perhaps retirement would be a wise thing to start considering, if he survived all the Breach nonsense.

“ _I damn sure better live through this shit. I don't want to keep Cecilia waiting for any longer than I already have_ ,” he told himself, eyes trained out the tavern window as he remained lost to his own musings.

He had no clue how, but once he'd settled everything that had to do with demons, Inquisitions, and Fade shenanigans, Varric had every intention of settling down for as quiet and bullshit free a life as he could possibly have. Kirkwall may still have been an absolute mess after the mage uprising began, but he longed to focus on rebuilding it and remaining happily in one familiar place. Particularly if that place involved Hawke, standing still and within close reach of the arms that hadn't held her nearly as much as he wished they had. There were so many damn things he still wanted to make up to her and he'd thought about every single one of them ever since he'd said good bye to her on that dock so many months ago. He'd been back in Kirkwall for such a short while before Cassandra dragged him off to the middle of fucking nowhere, but the city hadn't felt the same. Not just due to the terrible state it had fallen in to, but because Cecilia hadn't been there. It hadn't taken him long at all to realize how much he'd taken her for granted, how the years they'd spent together had been so precious regardless of every tragic, horrible thing which had transpired during them. He'd hated himself for loving her so damn much without just telling her, especially when he'd known, always known, that she'd felt the same. 

Love had always gone so damn wrong for him. He'd loved his family, but it'd fallen to pieces before he'd even managed to take his first steps. He'd loved Bianca and circumstances had never allowed them to be together the way they'd both wanted. In a way, he'd been scared of loving anyone, because it always seemed to spell disaster. He'd never been without friends or people he cared for, but bonds such as those had never made him wary or fearful of an already broken heart splintering even further. Varric felt that he had shouldered enough burdens since his youth without worrying about surviving another love story gone wrong. Doing without something new and instead remembering the old with a mix of wistful fondness and aching pain had suited him just fine until Cecilia Hawke had come in to his life. Or rather when he'd drawn her in to his with a paid off mugger and a proposition that he'd expected to change both their lives.

He knew that the way he'd begun grinning at the recollection might have been telling, content for once to sit alone in Haven's tavern rather than surrounded by eager ears ready for far-fetched stories. The storyteller lifted his mug of scarcely touched ale to his lips in an effort to hide his smile before Flissa, Sera, or any of the other regular patrons saw it and opted to ask questions. His thoughts about the Champion were one of the private things he didn't like sharing, especially not when he'd fallen in to one of his rare moments of quiet reflection. He was glad to tell anyone about her feats and adventures, with a healthy dose of grandiose embellishment. Hawke's was a story worth telling, a hero worth talking about, but his deeper, more personal affections were not things to be shared with just anyone. Hell, he'd left romance out of her book entirely and had even entertained the notion of saying she'd taken up with Blondie for a time. After all, he still felt at least eighty percent sure that Anders had been in love with Cecilia as well and a false romance would've been an excellent way to throw everyone off of the truth. He couldn't claim to be ashamed of the way he felt about her, but her life had been at risk since the uprising in Kirkwall and saying too much about the nature of their relationship seemed far too dangerous. Varric certainly hoped that someday he'd be able to talk about it without worry, mention with a casual grin that the storyteller and the Champion were in love, but until such a day came he felt it would be safer to keep their feelings strictly between the two of them.

Hell, once time allowed for it, maybe he could even consider writing the real, unspoken love story. A tale of two close friends being secretly in love with one another for several years sounded like something romance-starved nobles might eat up. Perhaps he might give the story a try, if only so he could make Cecilia read it and watch her blush furiously as he detailed his hidden passions for her during the good old days.

“You know, Varric, that mug isn't nearly big enough to hide that toothy grin you're wearing right now.”

The Herald looked equal parts tired and chipper as she pulled out the chair across the table from his, dropping a small stack of unopened letters before she plopped down in to her seat. 

“Copper for your amusing thoughts?”

“If you wanna know my thoughts, Punny, it's going to cost you more than a measly copper.”

“Damn. If only I didn't need to save my silvers for a shiny new dagger. You break a woman's heart, Varric.”

“I've been known to do that. My apologies.”

Mally seemed to get that he had no intention of sharing what he'd been smiling about without any genuine disappointment, showing no desire to pry too deeply in to the personal business of others if they showed discomfort or used humorous banter as deflection. The brunette appeared content to snap her fingers in half-hearted defeat and then shrug, as if she'd done nothing more than ask him about the weather, and he appreciated her for her casual acceptance. She reached across the table to steal his mug, glancing down at the still nearly full contents before she took a swig, holding its handle as she reclined back in her chair. It didn't bother him in the slightest, especially not since he knew she'd likely return it if it looked like he'd actually been drinking the ale, and he even chuckled when she stretched her legs under the table to rest the heels of her boots against one of the legs of his chair. 

“Nice to see you in a good mood even though you're sitting all by your lonesome. When I first saw you, I worried that something was wrong.”

“It's sweet of you to worry, Punny, but there's no need to fear. Sometimes even dwarves who like to hear their own voices need a little silence.”

“If you wanted silence, I wouldn't have figured the tavern would be the best place to be. If Maryden isn't singing then somebody three sheets to the wind and much less talented usually is.”

“Like you?”

“That was once and I have a beautiful singing voice, I'll have you know. Provided I'm mostly sober.”

“And here I thought I was the compulsive liar.”

“You may be _adwarfable_ , Varric, but I will hit you if you keep that up.”

She grinned at him wide as she could, showing that her threats were empty, and though he had to groan at the atrocity that was her pun, he couldn't help smiling.

“Would you really hurt your favorite storyteller?”

“No. I might be inspired to steal his letters, though.”

Clearly she had no actual intention of doing so, the fact made all the more apparent when Mally sat up to slide the stack of letters across the table at him. He'd initially figured them to belong to her, perhaps correspondence from relatives back in Ostwick, but a quick glimpse showed him a familiar wax seal on the back of one envelope. His sigh had Mally's brows shooting up.

“Merchant's Guild business, I take it?”

“Looks like it. Andraste's ass, I could probably lost somewhere out on the Waking Sea and they'd still manage to track me down. How'd you get these anyway, Punny?”

“A messenger was wandering around outside looking for you. I saw you heading in to the tavern earlier, so I figured I might as well take them since I was headed this way.”

Varric nodded his head and said his thanks while making a mental note to find another job for the messenger who had meant to make the delivery. His letters didn't need to get passed off to the wrong hands and that fact became all the more obvious when he flipped through the stack, coming across an unmarked envelope he absolutely knew he was only opening once he was in private. And there was no time like the present.

“Well, I better start getting through these before Chuckles and Curly turn in for the night. They both tend to get cranky if I keep them awake with my candlelight.”

“We could always trade.”

“What? Rooms?”

“Not quite.”

Mally held up her hand, glowing green concealed beneath the glove she wore.

“I'll deal with your Guild business and you can be the Herald of ' _kiss my Andr-ass-te_ ' for a while.”

“No can do, Punny. I wouldn't take that freaky magical fist even if you could give it away.”

“Can't blame a girl for trying.”

He really couldn't. He wouldn't have wished the mark on anyone, let alone a person like Mally, his heart going out to her when her smile was a bit more strained as she bid him a good night. Varric watched her for a bit as he headed to the nearest door, letters tight in his grasp as Mally slowly tilted back her mug. It wasn't until he saw her head lift when Dorian entered the tavern that he felt better about just leaving her be, the mage joining her at the table. Her voice sounded cheerful again when she called out to Flissa for a round and it made him feel better knowing that she was steadily forming her own band of misfits the same way Hawke had. Apparently, bizarre time travel nonsense had caused Sparkler to become fast friends with the illustrious Herald and she needed friends, not to mention whatever romantic entanglements with the Iron Bull she might have in her future. Somehow, he knew Mally would be okay.

Once he had stepped out of the warmth of the tavern and in to the chill of the snowy air, Varric paid no mind to the Breach in the sky or the various folks milling about Haven, walking as slowly as his eagerness would allow to the small building where he'd been rooming. Candles had already been lit when he stepped inside, even though neither of the other occupants were present, and Varric found himself immensely thankful for the privacy as he shut the door behind him, heading straight for the bed that he'd been using. Whatever the Guild had sent him needed to be dealt with sooner rather than later, but he was perfectly happy to drop those particular letters to the bed beside his hip once he sat down, reclining against the headboard, boots quickly kicked off to the floor. He'd been waiting almost anxiously for the letter clutched between his fingers, more so than usual. Getting word back from Hawke tended to be the highlight of any day and the wait always left him wanting for weeks, that sense of anticipation having only doubled given the nature of the last letter he'd sent her. 

It had been perhaps a little risky sending her something so amorous, especially when he'd never gone beyond telling her that he loved her or missed her, detailing how much he wanted to see her again. Things had become more open between them since they'd come clean and started writing one another, but thus far they'd only slept together once, so he wasn't wholly sure how she'd feel about him mentioning the night they'd shared. Cecilia tended to be a bit shy, so it was possible that she might have been startled by the intimacy in the letter. He hoped he hadn't upset her, telling himself that he'd do away with writing about his more physical feelings towards her if she dissuaded him from doing so in her response. Varric removed his gloves before he tore the envelope open, immediately taking in her words.

' _Serah Tethras,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_No. I'm sorry. I take that back._

_I hope this letter finds you with immense sexual frustration and I hope you read it while there are other people around, so you can blush until your face burns just like I did. Though, given how absolutely filthy your last letter was, I doubt you'll probably blush at all, you dirty-minded ass._ '

Varric set the letter down for a moment, afraid he might risk crumpling it in his fist as he started laughing, holding a hand over his mouth to keep the mirth as quiet as possible when he didn't want anyone to bother him as he read things over. Cecilia clearly wasn't angry with him, but he'd definitely embarrassed her and the playful scolding spoke volumes of how not bothered she'd been by the sexual content of his most recent letter. Fully amused and completely prepared to be all the more so after a few more paragraphs, Varric picked up the parchment and continued on.

' _Now, I'm far from opposed to dirty things. ~~We did, after all, help Anders hunt for those things? Do you remember? The piss crystals? Let's never, ever do anything like that again. I don't even know why I brought that up, because when I say I'm not opposed to dirty things I didn't mean wading in actual, honest to Andraste filth. I mean your sort of dirty. Don't read any of this. Here, I'll scratch it out. Don't you dare read it. I mean it, Varric. If you read this part I'll be very cross with you.~~ Your last letter was the sort of dirty I must admit I rather like if only, because the memories are very, very good ones. And I've thought of those memories on many occasions since we separated. I would like a warning, however, before you start writing about said dirty, wonderful memories just so I can make sure not to read them while I'm in a public place. You know me. I blush easily. ~~I may even be blushing right now. No, I'm not. I'm really not. Don't read this part.~~ '_

He wondered about the many scratched out sentences before his eyes, which he most certainly did read with no lack of amusement, surmising that Cecilia likely hadn't wanted to waste parchment by re-writing her letters. After all, she had been constantly on the move since leaving Kirkwall and given that she'd been near Crestwood, which seemed to be a perpetually damp area from what she'd told him, so it was doubtful that she had easy access to things she could write on as he did. He couldn't help thanking his luck for that unfortunate circumstance on her part, finding every error she tried to conceal with sharp lines of ink to be nothing short of golden. He would have never thought it possible that a person could appear so flustered in their writing, but somehow Cecilia had managed. 

The letter seemed as if it would only get better and better, particularly given the fact that she'd mentioned the things he'd written to her as being both dirty **and** wonderful. He was definitely keen to focus on the wonderful.

' _I can't say that I did anything to myself after I read your letter. I think you'll have to try much harder if you want words to be enough to make me ~~toy with myself~~ ~~bring myself off~~ rub my fingers between my thighs. The memories on their own do that well enough. They've gotten me through so many nights and made sleeping in the occasional cold cave warmer. It's hard to be bothered by the rain when I remember you kissing me and putting your hands on my ~~mounds~~ ~~tits~~ breasts. You said you loved the size of them, didn't you? Even though they're small. I liked that so much. And I liked the way you made me feel, especially when you let me ride you. I never knew sex could feel that way, Varric._

_I don't think I ever told you about how sex was for me in the past. Honestly, I believe I only ever spoke of it to Isabela, Aveline, and Anders. Mostly just Isabela. I never cared about it before. Not ever. In fact, I didn't even try it at all until Ostagar. There was always something else to worry about or something more important, so I just hadn't put any thought in to sex or being in love or any of those sorts of things. But when Carver and I went to Ostagar to help the army fight the Darkspawn, I thought I might never get a chance to try it. I thought that maybe I'd been foolish to not try it. I can't even remember the name of the man I slept with. I just thought he was handsome and polite. I thought that would be all I needed. And he was gentle and careful, but I just didn't feel anything at all. It was uncomfortable and almost tedious. It made me think that sex was actually nothing special or at least nothing worth dedicating any more time to. I never wanted to bother with it again._

_But you changed that for me, Varric. Not right away, but over time, as I fell more and more in love with you, I started feeling things I'd missed before. I wanted to be touched and held. I had dreams of that night in Ostagar, but they were vivid and warm and I always saw you instead of that man. I realized that I could be a passionate person and that I could feel pleasure, that I could make my body feel so much when I thought of simply kissing you. I lost count of how many times I brought myself release wondering how you'd taste and how you'd taste me, even though it always hurt afterward when I thought there was no hope you could ever love me the way I realized I loved you. It was so beautiful and so painful at the same time._ '

The mistakes and the embarrassed ink scratches had stopped, seemingly as Cecilia had stopped trying to write things that she thought would entice him and had instead started writing the truth of what she'd felt. And it was the honesty of her words that made him feel like his blood had caught on fire. In all the years he'd longed for her he wondered if she might have touched herself as she thought of him. He'd spent more nights than he could count, cock in hand and picturing her fingers in place of his own or entertaining the notion that she might be in Hightown at the very same moment, sinking her fingers inside her pussy while aching for his prick instead. He'd wondered and now he knew, undoubtedly knew, that every fantasy he'd ever entertained had been real and it made him want her there beside him so badly it almost hurt.

More than anything, more even than the lust creeping like slow spreading embers across his skin, he just wanted to kiss her. They'd exchanged words of love too many times to count over the past several months, words which meant the world to him, but she'd confessed so much in the secrets she'd shared. The depth of her feelings, her desire for him, and all the pain which had weighed down on her kind heart were laid as bare as they had been the night she'd finally said that she loved him for the first time, if not more so. Varric cursed himself for the millionth time for making her wait so long, hating that he'd let his own fear rule him. He'd loved her so damn much, only loved her even more now than he had back then, and he hadn't let her know until she had been the one to brave speaking the truth. He stopped reading for just a moment, closing his eyes as he let his brow touch the parchment, imagining he could glean the scent of sweet pea that had always reminded him of her.

Varric swore he'd do right by her, that he wouldn't let her hurt or her feelings go unanswered ever again. He promised to make things up to her in his last letter and he meant those words even more after seeing how she was continuing to open her heart to him. He took a breath, calming the rush of emotions and physical aching until he could focus on her words once again. 

' _That night with you was the best night of my life, Varric. I never thought it would happen or that you could possibly want or love me the same way, but when you kissed me the first time and your fingers were in my hair, I was elated. I'd never had a kiss feel so good that I could feel tingling down to my toes. I never thought just a kiss could be that arousing, but I was finally tasting you and you tasted so good and you felt even better. I wish I'd lasted longer. I know we were quick and you weren't inside me long, but it was unbelievable. It felt so fucking good. And it will feel even better next time._

_Next time we'll take it slow. I'll ride you slow. ~~Or maybe fast. Honestly, I'm so anxious to touch you again that I'll be glad for it no matter how fast or slow it is. No, wait. I'm going to practice restraint and take it slow and make you finish before you can even think about giving me an orgasm. Wait, this doesn't sound sexy at all. Shit. I hate you for being so good at writing these things, Varric. Ignore all of this. It's dreadful.~~ I'll make you feel as good as you made me when I see you again. _

_I love you. Every sexy, infuriating, wonderful bit of you. Tell Bianca I said to shoot straight and keep you safe until I can watch your back again._

_And I absolutely mean it. Do not try to read the things I've crossed out._ '

Varric's eyes scanned the letter at least twice once he'd finished before he could will himself to fold it up, wondering if he ought to step outside for a few minutes to cool his head. Cecilia may not have been able to utilize the same descriptive flare he had, but all of her words, especially the most heartfelt ones, had aroused him completely, his trousers far from comfortable. His heart felt full, his body tense with the need to alleviate all the desire she'd helped him feel, but he knew he could do nothing in that moment. Cecilia was far away, waiting for his response, and someone could enter the room at any given time, allowing him no real chance to stroke himself to release. If making him feel loved and sexually frustrating him had been her intentions then she had succeeded spectacularly on both counts. 

Climbing off the bed, Varric crouched to reach beneath it, retrieving the small box he'd been keeping there since he'd been given the shared quarters he presently occupied. No one had tampered with it as far as he knew and he had been keeping the key on his person at all times to hopefully prevent anyone from seeking what was within. He'd kept all of Cecilia's letters inside, each one tucked in an envelope which contained Merchant's Guild correspondence, mixed in so that it would be less likely for any one with enough curiosity and skills with a lockpick to find the Champion's words. He slipped the newest letter amongst the pages of an old Guild missive, locked the box, and tucked it away under his bed, keeping the feelings of the woman he loved and the fact that he even knew where she was as safe and hidden as he could. Burning them probably would have been the wisest course of action, but he couldn't find the will to do so. It was overly sentimental to keep them, perhaps, but he'd stopped worrying about such things a long time ago, when he'd first given a name to his crossbow.

It took him little time to find all the things he needed to pen his response, parchment and an inkwell laid out on the small desk near his bed, his favorite quill waiting for use as he lit another candle. Solas and Cullen would surely blow out the others, plunging the room in to mostly darkness once they turned in to sleep, but he needed only a little light to guide his letter strokes. Any complaints the others might make during the night would easily be ignored when writing his response would be the only method with which to expend the unsatisfied desires he felt.

He was going to make certain that he let Cecilia know how much she was loved with his next letter.

And he'd was going to turn her on something fierce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing from Varric's perspective is hard. And damn, Ceci, but you suck at trying to write smutty things.

**Author's Note:**

> Man, this first chapter is really rough since I'm trying to get my writing mojo back. Next chapter should be better.


End file.
